


As Long As You're Mine

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel (Movies)
Genre: Kink Negotiation, M/M, Possessive Steve, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 22:39:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony goes to a bar, meets a girl and gets a person thrown at his head, none of which is his fault. Then he comes home and talks to Steve. The couch will never be the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Long As You're Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Original draft of the dialogue cowritten with the lovely and talented Bongers, who encouraged me to keep writing when a couple pages of headcanon turned into THIS.

The first time they had sex, it was because Tony just couldn’t take it anymore. He’d decided that _not_ having sex with Steve required way more effort than—what, monogamy? He could handle that. He could _rock_ that shit if it meant having Steve, who was all noble and hot and unexpectedly funny and kind of his best friend, after Bruce. So it wouldn’t be so bad, or bad at all.

Tony was actually kind of looking forward to it.

Then one Sunday a few months ago Tony had woken up and showered and shuffled into the kitchen and Steve was there, all dressed up and fresh from church, where he went sometimes for reasons Tony couldn’t fathom. And Steve made him bacon, so Tony felt obligated to say thank you with his tongue and a lot of groping and found out about those helpless whimpering moans Steve made when he was surprised. After that—probably thanks to God, who Tony figured owed him one—he took Steve to his bedroom and fucked him. It was surreal and incredible and _really fucking hot_ , and afterwards Tony collapsed into the mattress with the feeling of a good job very (very) well done.

But after a minute or two Steve stopped breathing heavily into his sheets and started to look sort of uncomfortable. When he got up, Tony figured he was getting  a washcloth or something, which showed admirable initiative (while also giving him a great view of Steve’s ever-so-slightly bruised ass). Then Steve started putting his clothes back on.

“Uh,” Tony said very intelligently, still brain-fogged and boneless. “You…”

“It’s okay,” was all Steve said before he tucked his shirt back in and left the room. For a while Tony just lay there, feeling cold in maybe more ways than one.

Luckily, he wasn’t about to give up so easily.

For a while Steve avoided him, which was awful and gave Tony this annoying tight feeling in his chest like he’d screwed everything up. He finally barged in while Steve was obliterating punching bags and said “So, what, do you not like me now?” and when Steve staggered back and said “No! I— of _course_ I still—” Tony interrupted with “Then do you want to have sex again?”

If the way Steve threw him against the wall and fucked him right there was any indication, he did. As Tony sagged slowly to the ground, still mostly clothed and damp with sweat and come, he tried to think of things to say that might stop Steve from running off again.

“ _God,_ Steve,” he rasped, which at least was something.

For a while it was even enough. Steve knelt down and kissed him, all gentle and slow and wet, and tugged Tony’s pants back into place when Tony just clung to him, sloth-like. After a while, though, Steve pulled away and brushed back Tony’s hair and stood up.

Then something really, really important occurred to Tony and he reached out to grab Steve’s pants leg. “Friends, right?” he asked when Steve looked down, because he’d realized that not having Steve around to smile at him or make him eat or shake his head at Tony’s idiocy was kind of the worst thing, and he wanted it to _stop._

Steve sighed softly and gave him this gorgeous, kind of sad smile. “Of course, Tony.”

So it went like that.

“You could stay? If you wanted?” Tony said once when Steve rolled out of bed _again_. He was too busy hating the way his uncertainty made it a question to really notice much else, but when Steve said “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” Tony heard it loud and clear.

Then one night he got home from having dinner with Pepper, and he’d been drinking and maybe feeling just a little maudlin about _nobody ever wants me back, not ever, Pepper couldn’t deal with me risking my life and now Steve just flat-out doesn’t want me_. And Steve was there in the living room, all solid and warm and smelling like clean laundry, and Tony just couldn’t help himself. He plopped down on the couch and turned the meaningless babble on high, just so he could watch Steve and maybe Steve would smile at him and say he was ridiculous. He got about about halfway through describing dinner, on the bit about the hot young waitress who’d tried to give him her number without Pepper noticing, when Steve interrupted.

“Are you going to ask her out?” When Tony just blinked at him, he added “You can, you know.”

“Oh,” he said, and tried to force some kind of smile. “Yeah?”

“Of course!” Steve told him with his eyebrows all scrunched up, so earnestly that Tony felt sick. “I thought you knew, I don’t— I’d never want to—”

“All right,” Tony interrupted loudly, lurching to his feet. “Got it, yeah. Well, I guess I’ll do that, then, luckily I’ve still got the piece of paper,” (he didn’t) “so I guess I’ll give her a call,” (he wouldn’t).

But the next time a woman offered, he did.

He never took them back to the Tower because that was Steve’s, it just _was_ , and there was nothing he could do about that. So instead, in the times between Steve—before that need finally got the best of him and he couldn’t stay away a second longer—he worked, and Avenged, and had sex with other people.

It wasn’t as if he hated it. He liked sex, a lot, and he especially loved not feeling about three inches tall if they jumped out of bed right away (because who cared about _them?_ ) It just rankled, not getting what he wanted, but fine. That was fine.

And of course there were the times, almost always the brightest spots in a really pretty fantastic sex life, when he did have Steve. And Steve could just _wreck_ him, get him shaking hot and begging for it and fuck him into the mattress, choking words into Tony’s neck that Tony never quite caught. The closest he ever got to making Steve stay was when he’d crawl onto him and lick into his mouth, deep and filthy, until Steve’s moans turned growly and impatient and it was time for another round. When Tony was on top sex was an argument, trying to persuade Steve with every twist of his hips, every flick of his tongue that this was good, this was _amazing_ , he should keep Tony all for himself.

But that didn’t happen.

\-------------------

“Let me look at this, okay?” Steve said, leaning over Tony with his hands already reaching up, anticipating permission. He kept eyeing the bruises blooming on Tony’s face with this tight, unhappy look on his face, then looking down like he was expecting to find a broken leg or something.

“No, really, I’m just...” He yawned so widely his jaw popped and then said, unnecessarily, “...tired.”

“Uh-huh.” Steve didn’t seem impressed. Really though, Tony was fine, and he didn’t need to be fussed over, even if it was nice to have Steve so close, looking all concerned. It was good for his ego.

Steve twisted aside on the couch to open the first aid kit—because he’d brought the whole thing for Tony’s stupid little bruise, because he was a painfully adorable goober—and picked out rubbing alcohol and some cotton. “This shouldn’t sting too much,” he said softly, wetting the cotton ball and lifting it to dab at the swollen sore spot, just where Tony’s skull curved around his eye socket.

“Ow, owww,” Tony said, wincing, because _shit_ , and apparently the skin was broken after all.

But then Steve’s other hand was cradling the good side of his face and he whispered “Sorry,” which made it hard to pull away for a number of reasons. Still hurt like a son of a bitch.

“Steeeeve,” he whined when his head throbbed extra-painfully— and it seemed like this procedure should really be over by now. “I’m fiiine, _ow_!” Tony flailed out one hand to push, ineffectually, against Steve’s chest, and when that didn’t work he dragged his palm down an inch or two. Touching Steve was the best painkiller, really it was. “Hurt less before you decided to fix it,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Here,” Steve said quickly, in the tone of a parent trying to distract their child from a tetanus shot. “Hang on, here...” As he glanced back and snatched something else from the kit, his thumb stroked warm and dry across Tony’s lips. Tony wondered if he knew he was doing it. He wondered why all of a sudden his chest was aching too. “This will make the bruising fade faster,” Steve told him as he turned back with some kind of ointment on his finger. “Just hold still for a second.”

“There,” he announced when he was done, leaning back to examine his handiwork. Tony raised his eyebrows despite the pain, and Steve smiled just a bit. “Don’t worry. Your face will be radiant as ever next time the paparazzi get to you.”

Tony rolled his eyes and groaned. “Whoever taught you sarcasm should be shot.”

“That was you, Tony.” He smiled gently, and his eyes shone in that really unfair way, like Tony was the most special person in the world and he’d never be bored with him. (Clearly, not the case.)

“Well, okay, fine, shoot me,” he agreed, raising a hand to his face and wincing immediately. “I deserve it, _ow,_ clearly I’ve unleashed a monster.”

Steve’s smile just widened. “Nah. I think you’ve gotten enough punishment for the evening.”

There was a moment, then, where Tony looked over and thought about moving closer, turning so he could lean into Steve’s chest and just rest there. Close his eyes and maybe, if he was lucky, get Steve’s arm around him for just a little while. Then Steve turned to snap the kit shut and set it on the coffee table, and the moment was gone.

“So,” Steve said with what sounded like a cough. “What exactly went on tonight? You said somebody got thrown into you...?”

Tony sagged even more into the couch and waved it off. “Yeah, some bar fight— I was not involved, for the record.”

He thought he heard Steve laugh at that. “How’d you let that one pass you by?”

“Surprisingly, not my thing.” Tony rolled his head on the cushion until he was smiling right at Steve. “More a drinking and dancing kind of guy. Side order of schmoozing, when forced.”

“Yeah, I guess.” When Steve smiled back it rang a little bit false. “You danced, then?”

That got Tony chuckling, because whatever Steve was picturing probably didn’t involve the dingy hardwood corner of this particular bar, where hammered folks of all ages engaged in sex acts with their clothes on. Or if it did, he needed to go out with Steve more often. “Should have, clearly,” he replied when Steve just looked confused. “Didn’t know staying at the bar made me a live target.”

He stretched his legs out until his toes were pointed and the ache was nice and deep, then let his heels thud to the floor. “Dangerous world we live in, Capster.”

“Ahh,” said Steve.

After a few seconds went by, Tony raised his eyebrows. “‘Ahh’?”

“Nothing. Um. Any nice gals?”

Tony immediately grinned at the memory of a certain eager, clever mouth. “There were a few.”

“Of course.”

“A... Sarah? Sasha? Huh.” She’d made sure he knew it, so he could say it while she was— busy, but now he couldn’t quite remember. Tony shrugged; it didn’t seem all that important. “Got mad at me,” he added, snickering, because it was funny in retrospect and she certainly hadn’t _stayed_ mad.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I...” Tony was laughing outright now, just a few steps back from his gleeful cackle. “Might’ve made a pass at someone else while she was, uh... there. Oops!”

A long, quiet sigh. “That was rude, Tony.”

“Oh, it’s fine, we made up, she can call me if she wants.” He shrugged again. “She won’t.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeahh, it’s a bit tragic, honestly, she was... eh, whatever. Weird, though, that I can’t remember the name. Was it Samantha? No, not it.”

“Tony.”

He looked back at Steve, smile at the ready, only to find an absolutely stony Captain America face frowning down at him. “Uh... Steve?”

“I can’t believe you don’t remember her name,” he said, his forehead a furrowed map of displeasure, miserable and angry-looking and the last thing Tony was expecting. “It was just a few hours ago and clearly you— you liked her. Or, well. She liked you.”

And just— what the hell? How did Steve, running off at full-speed every time they finished fucking, get the right to give him lectures on how to behave? Tony _liked_ women, and drinking, and sometimes he liked being stupid and getting blowjobs in seedy bathrooms, and if Steve wasn’t going to step up and lay a claim then he and his stupid pretty face needed to shut up, and _fast._

Seriously, what the hell.

“I know things are different now,” Steve went on, shoulders hunching up, “but— but if a lady is going to be doing _that_ , I think you’d at least—”

Tony wriggled his head around in a futile attempt to see whatever was on his neck that Steve was pointing at. “What that? What’d she do?” He put up a hand and rubbed, which was more effective in that his fingers came away stained red. “Oh yeah, that was Sarah, or Sonia. After we made up,” he added, smiling wide and false. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Steve repeated to his hands, which were tightly clenched in his lap. He took a deep breath and raised his eyes again, looking stern and really unfairly sad. “Well, I hope she was... good.”

“You mind if I make an observation, Cap?” Tony asked, his voice sharp enough to cut.

He could have sworn Steve nearly growled. “What _,_ Tony.”

“You said I could do whatever I wanted, and you didn’t _care_ , but that’s not really the vibe I’m getting here.”

Steve jaw was clenched so hard it looked like it hurt to open his mouth. “Of course you can do what you want,” he said flatly. “I couldn’t stop you if I tried. And what we have, I— I like it, a lot. I don’t want things to change, or— for you to feel trapped. Or anything like that.”

“Right. Yeah,” Tony bit out, because fine, it wasn’t like he was relationship material anyway, clearly, but Steve never stopped _saying_ how he didn’t want anything else and Tony shouldn’t feel tied to him, and every time Tony felt like he was being shoved out the door without getting in in the first place.

“But.” He looked up and saw something dangerous and hard in Steve’s expression, something that made him want to flinch. His eyes were the color of cold steel, fixed on his hands again instead of Tony. “But I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

_No._ Tony could have sworn his heart dropped in his chest. _No, no, no, you **can’t.**_

“Because I imagine their hands on you,” Steve went on, gritting out each word through his tightly clenched teeth. “Imagine them— touching you. Kissing you, or just, _anything_ , and I get so— so _angry_ , I want to hurt them, want to break things, and that’s— that’s not what this is. I know that.” He drew in a long, shuddering breath. “It’s not how this should be. But right now?”

His eyes flicked up, catching Tony’s, and they _burned._

“I want to slap the woman who touched you. Or—well, no. But… I want to _kiss you_ in front of her, want to— god,” he groaned, his voice muffled when he buried his face in his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“My.” Tony’s mouth had gone dry. “Aren’t we possessive.”

Steve’s head sank down lower, his fingers digging into his hair with a grip that looked painful. “I know that’s not the sort of... thing this is,” he said quietly, “or was. Anyway, I’m sorry, Tony.”

He was going to leave, and Tony couldn’t have that. Not when things were getting interesting.

“So why do you want to kiss me?” he asked before Steve could move. “In front of Sasha, I mean. Sonia? Not the point,” Tony interrupted himself, waving his fingers and squinting at Steve.

Frozen in place like a startled rabbit, Steve started to blush. “It’s— it’s not,” he stammered, and then opened and shut his mouth several more times before he managed to continue. “I don’t want... her” (he was violently pink) “to have you, I don’t want her to get to, to, to _claim_ you, at all, I—“

“You don’t want anyone else to touch me.”

“No.” It was hardly a whisper, hardly _anything._ Steve was flushed red down to his neck.

Tony twisted his mouth to one side, thinking. “But you don’t want to be... ‘together,’ clearly, so, what? Is this some kind of _only-I-fuck-him_ thing?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“W— what do you mean, I don’t want—?”

“Because, honestly, that could be pretty hot. I could get into that.”

“ _Tony,_ ” Steve said, and his tone distracted Tony from grand plans of trading exclusive fucking rights for occasional cuddles. “What do you mean? You—”

“Hmm?”

“You think _I_ wouldn’t want... a relationship? With _you_?”

He tried not to roll his eyes, really he did. “Uh, yeah, funny thing, sort of the impression you leave when you keep saying ‘oh, go out and see other people! Don’t feel tied down! Don’t be trapped, no, no, this is all we need to do, excuse me while I _run away_ ’—”

“Because I didn’t want you to leave me!”

Silence fell for several reasons. Tony’s formidable brain was examining that sentence for some meaning, reference or subtext that might actually make sense, while simultaneously concluding that Steve was stupid and compiling a list of suitable insults. Steve, on the other hand, seemed to have lost the power of speech for the moment, and where before he’d been beet-red he was suddenly white as death.

“B-because,” he finally managed, his blue eyes still huge and panicked, “what we were doing, before, that’s... what you want. Isn’t it? I thought, if that was all I got it would just, have to be enough.”

“You... don’t want me to leave you, so you send me away. This makes sense to you?”

“What?” Steve yelped. “I haven’t been—”

“Yeah, Steve, you _kinda_ have!”

“I was trying to make sure you felt free to do what you want! Take a look at your track record here, okay? When you wanted to, to, mess around, I assumed that was all you’d want! And the fact that you’d do it more than once was—” Steve shook his head, his eyes soft, and Tony was struck by that feeling again, that trying to _not_ have sex with this man was exhausting and silly and a bad, bad idea. “It was incredible. It was so much more than I’d hoped for. How could I make demands on you after you’d given me so much? I didn’t want to tie you down...”

“You know I wasn’t, actually, seeing anyone else,” Tony pointed out, for the record. “Until I just happened to mention some waitress or barista or, hell I don’t remember, and you jumped all over yourself telling me I could go for it if I wanted.”

“How was I supposed to know? It seems like half of what you say is innuendo, for all I knew—”

“I said she was good looking, Cap, don’t play the old man card—”

“You said she—”

“Who cares what I said? You’re the one who _interpreted_ —”

“What else could you possibly—”

“Not the point, all right?” he snapped, because somehow they were back to fighting, plowing over each other’s sentences like the first day they’d met.

“Right.” Steve shook his head, jerky and irritated. “Yeah, fine.”

The sooner they got to the bottom of this, the sooner Tony could maybe have a bit of solid ground, instead of this particular piece of Steve-Rogers-related hell where nothing made sense and he felt guilty for no reason. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, ’til the arc reactor dug into his forearms just a little bit painfully. “So you don’t want to have sex anymore. Which, fine, okay, your call.”

“That’s not it,” Steve said immediately, startling him. “At all. I want to have sex, okay— I do. I want you _so much_ , but—”

Tony raised his eyebrows and braced for it.

“I can’t just be a casual fling, or whatever you want to call it. I don’t want to just have sex. I don’t want to... just get each other off and then be friends,” he spat out, looking pained.

“Well, no,” Tony tried, “that’s why we’d—”

“I want _you_. And I want you to be mine, not anyone else’s.”

When he lost the urge to laugh with just the slightest touch of hysteria, Tony dug the heel of his hand into his unbruised eye and rubbed, wondering how life in general and his life in particular were so very, absurdly, fiendishly difficult. No answer came, so he sighed loudly and spoke up. “You know, most times, when I fuck you, I try to turn you into jelly— not just ’cause it’s fun, but because then you stay longer, don’t run off right away. So... yeah. I guess.”

Steve’s face was making another leap for a bright-red blush, and after a few seconds all he came up with was “Uhm.” Then he swallowed hard, possibly twice. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tony murmured, looking straight at him.

“You’d really want—”

“Yes, Steve.” He rolled his eyes again, which hurt, but he was dedicated to letting Steve know just how ridiculous he was being right now.

As that sank in, Steve smiled, reached out to grab Tony’s hand, and then hesitated, biting his lip. “You’re sure that—”

“ _Yes, Steve._ ”

Steve didn’t so much say _oh_ as his mouth just made the shape of it. “Okay then.”

Tony nodded and was preparing to suggest a change in venue when Steve _lunged_ , and suddenly there were two hundred thirty pounds of warm, heavy Steve pinning him lengthwise on the couch. Before he could manage more than an indignant yelp and a little bit of squirming, Steve braced his elbows on either side of Tony’s head and kissed him.

“Still sure?” he whispered into Tony’s lips, pausing for a moment.

“Well, in the interest of transparency,” said Tony as casually as he could manage while trying to catch his breath, “I _will_ screw up again. Genetics, or something, there’s nothing to be done.”

Steve smirked and kissed him a few more times, open-mouthed and warm. When he drew back he traced his fingers across Tony’s face, absently, like an old habit. “Tony,” he said, and his voice was so _warm._ “Tony, I— like you. A whole lot. And being your... boyfriend?” He made a face that Tony could only guess matched his own. “Partner?” he tried again, wrinkling his nose even as he said it.

“Oh, ew.” Tony grimaced.

“Being— being yours.” The look in Steve’s eyes was soft and bright as a star, and he kissed Tony _so gently_ on the cheek that he couldn’t help biting his lip and grinning like an idiot.

“I like that one,” he murmured without meaning to.

“Being yours,” Steve said again, brushing his lips across Tony’s unbruised temple, “is worth anything.”

He managed to speak around the sudden lump in his throat. “See, you say that now...”

“And we do save the world on a weekly basis. We can probably manage to work this out.”

Which was kind of a fair point, and arguing more seemed counterproductive, so Tony hooked two fingers in the collar of Steve’s t-shirt and pulled him in. He spent a while grabbing at Steve’s shoulders and kissing him, humming against his lips and pressing them open with slow swipes of his tongue. There was always this moment, in sparring and kissing and sex, when Steve went from being cautious to being eager and uninhibited, so at home in himself, and Tony loved getting him there.

It didn’t take very long. In fact, Tony almost didn’t say what he meant to, because every time he moved away Steve chased his mouth, pinning his head back with these quiet little growls. But finally even Steve had to come up for air, and Tony forced the words out.

“So, Steve,” he gasped, then inhaled. “About before. Sounds like you’ve got a plan to keep me in line.” He kissed just under Steve’s jaw, flicking his tongue across the spot for good measure. “Tell me more.”

And Steve actually moaned, just a little, low in his throat, and ducked his head down to nuzzle his cheek against Tony’s. “Well, for— for starters, I’d make sure you took better care of yourself, and didn’t— ahh,” he huffed when Tony started licking his neck. “Not get— black eyes in bar fights, and, uh.”

“Don’t stop,” Tony coaxed him, shifting a bit between Steve’s thighs. “I want to hear it.”

And he did, he really, really wanted to, because the look on Steve’s face when he’d said words like _claim_ and _want you_ and _mine_... it made Tony think this could get interesting very fast.

He wasn’t wrong.

“I’d drag you to the shower,” Steve whispered even lower, after a long hesitation, and Tony imagined his eyes shut tight, ashamed or turned on or _both_ , both would be good, “and scrub her smell off you, and leave a _mark_ where every bit of lipstick had been—”

Just picturing that was like his nerves were set on fire, and Tony wrapped his arms tight around Steve’s shoulders, pulling closer and groaning into his throat, scraping with his teeth to feel Steve shudder.

“—b-because I don’t want— _ahh, Tony—_ don’t want anyone else to mark you, want, want you to belong to me, just me—”

“Done,” he said immediately, shifting under Steve for just a little bit of friction, because he was so very okay with this, he was ready for anything— especially the way Steve clutched at his shirt and groaned out a _yessss_ , pushing him further into the couch with slow thrusts of his hips. “Yeah,” Tony agreed, trying to move enough to get a leghold or something, anything... except, was he? He couldn’t budge Steve’s weight, and if Steve wanted to he could just _hold_ Tony there and do whatever he wanted with him, and Tony wouldn’t be able to... he’d just have to lie there and _take_ it, and...

Fucking hell. How long had _that_ been a thing?

“So.” Tony licked his lips and sucked in a ragged breath. “What’s your thing? You want to punish me, you wanna tell me just how bad I’ve been? Or is that too fast?”

“ _Nngh,_ ” Steve whimpered, shaking against him, and Tony had never seen him get this turned on so quickly. It was honestly sort of intoxicating. “No! Not, not really, _Tony_ , how can you just _say_ —”

“Okay, it’s okay. Whatever you want, babe.”

“Just... want you to remember that you... you belong to me.” Steve swallowed, glancing down quickly and then dragging his gaze back to Tony. “Un-unless that’s strange.  ... Is that strange?”

He wanted to laugh, or something, because even flushed and hard and trembling Steve was still actually worried that he could scare Tony off. “If it is, I couldn’t care less,” he told him, stroking Steve’s shoulders with both hands. “I’m yours. So, _so_ yours, this is a great plan, if you want to just, pin me down and remind me now and then— or daily, that would work—”

“ _Pin you—_ ”

“Please let that not be a problem,” Tony added quickly, because Steve’s eyes were huge and he looked like he might have some kind of fit. “That’s not even, I’ve got _much_ worse ideas!”

Then he shut up, because Steve was taking one of Tony’s arms from around his neck, bringing it slowly over Tony’s head until Steve held his wrist down on the couch. Tony wriggled his fingers and felt them brush against the armrest, but he couldn’t move and they both knew it. So he stared up at Steve and tried to breathe as his other hand was brought up, and then both his wrists were held together in just _one_ of Steve’s hands and his legs were pinned and he tried to arch his back but Steve put his other hand palm-down on his ribs and _held_ him there, easily.

“Oh, _god_.” Tony hardly recognized his voice; it was ravaged and raw as if Steve had been fucking his throat instead of just holding him down. “Okay, yeah.”

“This is good?” Because of course Steve would ask, would really need to hear it, even with Tony lying there practically begging to be used. Another tally mark for Hours of Cuddling Owed to Steve.

“Uh-huh.”

There was a short, heavy pause.

“Say it now?”

He looked up at Steve, all hot and disheveled and hopeful and _perfect_ , and wondered if he’d ever meant anything quite so much. “I’m yours,” he repeated, loud and clear.

Steve fell on him immediately, groaning and growling “mine” against Tony’s throat, sliding his hand down to clutch Tony’s hip, rubbing his cock on Tony’s thigh through their clothes. “Mine,” he whispered again, desperate and hoarse. “Tony, you’re so gorgeous— amazing, how are you _mine_ —”

“Just am,” said Tony, which was supposed to be smug but came out more like _fuck please touch me_ , and he was more than happy to be shut up. Kissing Steve was always incredible, and now it made him feel like he was going to melt away to nothing any second. Tony could still move his head, just barely, but when Steve moved just an inch too far away he could only lean up, whimpering and helpless and hoping for more. After a few quick, wet brushes of Steve’s lips and tongue, there and gone again, he made a sobbing sound that was barely human and then Steve was on him, absolutely perfect, pushing Tony’s head back and groaning into the messy slide of their tongues.

“I,” he managed a minute later, when they had to stop to catch their breath, “I am really, unexpectedly into this right now, just so we’re clear.”

“Me too,” Steve agreed with a tiny, breathless laugh. The hand not holding Tony’s wrists went after the buttons on Tony’s shirt, without much success. His grip loosened for a second, as if he was thinking about letting Tony go temporarily, then tightened again. Steve tried the first button again, fumbled and huffed in annoyance. If he wanted to get the shirt off, he’d have to use both hands.

“If you tied me up, you wouldn’t have that problem” Tony suggested helpfully. “But that’s just me. Problem-solver. You are so hot right now, by the way.”

With the ease of someone who’d known Tony for a while, Steve noticed only the important parts of his babbling. “You’d like me to tie you up?” He glanced up at Tony’s wrists, sighed, and let him go, attacking the buttons again with a certain amount of resentment.

“Uhhm, yeah?” Tony shifted a bit so Steve could drag the shirt up and away. “Trick question?”

Steve’s tongue darted out over his flushed-red lips, and this time he buried his fingers in Tony’s hair. “Yeah?” he asked, tugging just a little.

“D-definitely.” Tony’s eyes fluttered shut and he was achingly hard; the hair was one of his weak spots, Steve could pull him by the hair and just _own_ him. “Tied naked to your bed, for best results.”

This time Steve tugged harder, arching Tony’s neck backwards and then kissing wetly all along the exposed skin while Tony clutched at his arms and tried hard not to beg.

He was not particularly successful.

“O-okay, please.” The angle of his throat and the pressure of Steve’s mouth distorted his voice, making it choky and ragged. “Please, c’mon, babe, I need you. Anything, Steve, anything you want.”

Steve let go so abruptly Tony coughed, and his fingers cradled Tony’s head as he stared down with huge dark eyes. The hunger in his face made Tony’s cock twitch and he wanted Steve to fuck him, wanted it so badly he could hardly see. “Say that again,” Steve demanded, the words tumbling from his lips like an avalanche. “Tell me you’ll do anything, tell me you want this, please please tell me—”

“Christ, Steve.” He wanted this, of _course_ he did, wanted to get his mouth on Steve’s cock and make him finally stop _talking_. “Yes, anything you want me to do, just tell me or— or don’t, if you’d rather, you can do whatever you want to me, I swear, I’m all yours, babe, I’ll do anything—”

Steve’s hands trailed down to fumble with the button of Tony’s pants; he was rocking into Tony and whispering what sounded like _oh god, oh god_. “Just be mine, Tony,” he said, louder but just as desperate, “just mine, please, Tony, and no one else’s. And if anyone—”

His fingers wrapped around Tony’s cock, and Tony clamped his mouth shut to muffle a wail.

“—lays a hand on you, I will _tear them apart_ , I’ll... I’ll take you to pieces in front of them, make them see who you really belong to, and— _Tony_ ,” he groaned, leaning down and pressing sloppy wet kisses all over Tony’s lips. “Want to have that woman who— want to have her _watch,_ watch me touch you and you, see you ask for more, shaking and— and panting for _me_...”

Then Steve’s hand, which had been stroking Tony with torturous slowness, thumbing the head of his cock and taking him dangerously close to screaming... it stopped. “Sure you wouldn’t rather it was her?” Steve asked, only _mostly_ to tease, as if he almost knew the answer but wasn’t actually, entirely sure.

“Ohhh my _god,_ Steve,” Tony groaned, completely exasperated, because _obviously_ that was—

Then he remembered, and kind of wanted to punch himself in the face.

“I, uh.” Tony licked his lips, thinking (in some annoying, n’er-do-well corner of his brain) that this figurative bucket of ice water might at least keep him from coming in the next five seconds. “This would or would not be the time to apologize for the lipstick...?”

He winced in advance as Steve’s eyes went wide, but Tony forced himself to watch as Steve looked down, really looked, and his whole face went stiff and cold. He let go of Tony’s cock as if he’d touched something foul.

“No,” Tony whined, as if this wasn’t kind of his fault, “nonono, I didn’t—”

“Didn’t even bother to wipe yourself off afterward.”

“Steve, I didn’t know— look, it was—”

“She was _there_ ,” Steve snapped at him, looking furious and hurt and a whole lot of things that were making Tony feel like shit. “Her lips were touching you, touching what’s mine!”

“I’m sorry!” he said, using this _thing_ of Steve’s as an excuse to apologize. “I am, I’m sorry.”

“And you let her.”

“I...” Perhaps unfortunately, sex or no sex, Tony was himself. “You know, in my defense,” he shot back in a more normal tone, “we weren’t even... I mean, you and I, we never agreed to—”

“I know,” Steve relented, at least a little, taking one of Tony’s hands. “I know, Tony. But I also know,” he added, with his frown lines back in force, “that you have no self control, so. I guess that’s why you need me around. To help with... control.”

He looked down at Tony, and the invitation lay there between them, waiting. Giving Tony the choice of what would happen next. And if Tony hesitated for just a second, it was only because he had no intention of changing his mind once it was made up.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, okay.”

Then Tony squeaked, though he’d never admit it, as he was grabbed and flipped onto his hands and knees, legs bound by the pants Steve had dragged down to mid-thigh. Steve’s hands were everywhere, sliding down his sides and over his ass, teasing his thighs, and Steve must have undone his own pants because when he leaned over Tony to grab the lube from his jacket, Steve’s cock brushed between Tony’s legs and they both jerked like they’d been shocked. He pulled back again with the lube in hand, hesitated, and then just as Tony began to squirm Steve pressed a slick finger into him, fast and rough.

“I can smell her, Tony,” he growled, leaning down until his lips brushed Tony’s ear. “I can smell her on you—” Steve twisted the finger in Tony and added another, too soon, but Tony just pressed himself back into it. “She smells cheap. You’re too good for that, Tony.”

In an admirable display of self-preservation and really wanting to be fucked, Tony refrained from mentioning that in fact, whatsername had been a pretty nice girl.

Steve was fucking his fingers in and out, stretching him, holding tight to Tony’s hip with his other hand. “You shouldn’t let people touch you like that. No one but me.”

“Nope,” Tony gasped, shuddering and trying to hold himself up. “No, just, just you, I swear.”

It was always a tight fit, making Tony take three, because Steve had big hands and his fingers were long and thick but _fuck,_ he was sliding in the third, nearly purring at the slick obscene sound it made, petting Tony as he trembled and whimpered. “Good, good, that’s so good.”

And there was something about that praise, about Steve’s fingers stroking him inside and out and Steve’s voice, saying he was good... forget being into this, Tony could _drown_ in it.

“I’ll be good for you,” he promised, spreading his knees as far as he could. “I’ll be good, I will.”

With his mouth trailing down Tony’s back Steve made a strangled sort of noise and for a moment he leaned on Tony like he couldn’t even hold himself up. “You _are_ ,” he said with a conviction that made Tony’s bones feel like rubber because Steve _never_ said these things, not to him, not once. “You feel so amazing, Tony, so— so tight and hot, can’t believe I get to have you, I get to keep you.”

“You can you can you can,” Tony groaned in a single breath. His hands were fisted on the cushion with the effort of not touching himself, and he knew that wouldn’t last. “You’re required, actually, _please_ —”

“Oh god, okay—” And he knew he’d worn Steve down, knew from the rushed, jerking movements of Steve’s hands and the catch of his breath, the quick slide out of his fingers and, just as Tony started to whine at the loss, the press of Steve’s cock to replace them, dripping lube down Tony’s ass and still so much, still stretching him full and pushing deeper, deeper until he’d taken it all and they were both shaking and gasping with their hearts in their throats. Tony moaned and rocked back and swore he saw dark spots in his vision. He wondered if Steve could fuck him until he actually blacked out.

“Fuck that’s good,” he rasped, shifting his weight just to make Steve tremble. “’s’amazing.”

For a few seconds Steve was just still, his breath ragged over Tony’s back. Then he leaned forward, pressing even deeper into Tony, and his lips brushed Tony’s neck. “Please, don’t let anyone else do this,” he whispered, kissing under his ear a few more times for good measure.

“No!” He squirmed on Steve’s cock, desperate for _more._ “I won’t, I— I promise, okay?”

One of Steve’s hands was braced against the armrest, but the other stroked through Tony’s hair, gently this time. He ducked his head down and nuzzled Tony’s shoulder. “Good.”

“Ohh, I missed you,” Tony muttered as Steve’s hips finally started to move, shallow gentle thrusts that were hardly anything and always drove him _mad._ “Missed this, you know you’re incredible, yeah? Please— _please,_ more.”

Steve just hummed happily and tugged Tony’s head back by the hair, smothering his groan with a quick soft kiss. “God if I’d known you wanted this,” Tony went on, shaking his head. Steve pulled his hair again, sharper this time, arching Tony’s neck and moving even more slowly. He kept it up, relentless, torturing Tony ’til he was rutting helplessly into thin air, gasping for it, and words came spilling out unbidden. “You could’ve just taken me, taken it anytime, I would’ve fucking _loved_ it, Steve—”

“ _Tony._ ” Steve kissed him again, pressed deep inside him and then stopped moving completely, ignoring Tony’s short, sobbing moan against his lips. “Tony. Will you... ask me for it? Please,” he added, pushing them both forward with a slow rock of his hips. “Want to hear you.”

And _shit_ , he’d never done this before, not for anyone, but he would if Steve wanted him to, so he shut his eyes and tried not to think. “Okay, okay, then— then please, Steve, I want you to fuck me.” Steve pressed his face into Tony’s shoulderblades to muffle a high, desperate cry. “Please,” (he only choked on the words a little) “I’m _begging_ you, give me something—”

Steve did. He pulled out, slowly, like he didn’t really mean to, and then shoved forward just once, sending Tony’s muscles spasming around his cock and whispering “more. Tony, _more._ ”

“O-okay,” he forced out, but his mouth felt numb and he just wanted Steve _fuck him already._ “Will you just, please don’t stop, I’m talking, okay, I am, keep going, Steve I want to feel you f-fucking me into the couch, I— want this to ache tomorrow, every time I move, remind me I belong to you.”

Which was a bit of a cheap shot, but it worked.

“Jesus, Tony,” Steve breathed into his neck, shivering but already picking up the pace. He wouldn’t go as fast as Tony wanted him to, not yet, because Steve was so _careful_ and it was infuriating. It made Tony crazy, made his chest feel wrong to see the way Steve looked at him sometimes—

He imagined having Steve like _this_ all the time. Greedy and possessive, holding Tony down and fucking him whenever he felt like it, claiming him. Steve pushing him into a worktable, waking him up in the night with his hands and mouth... sometimes. When he needed it, when Tony misbehaved. Fuck, he was almost there. He just needed a little more, something to push him over the edge...

“Will— please will you touch me,” he panted, pushing back onto Steve. “I’m close. I’m so close, please, hold me up, wanna feel you behind me.”

“I’ve got you.” Steve slipped an arm around Tony and hauled him tight against Steve’s chest, until every thrust rubbed them together just a _bit,_ slick with sweat, and the heat was almost unbearable. Steve had a hand on Tony’s hip, holding him still. He couldn’t get as much leverage this way, but he fucked into Tony as hard as he could and ground even closer, filling Tony with his cock until it was almost too much and then pulling back and shoving deep inside again. Steve’s hand slipped down from Tony’s hip to his cock, tugging in firm, rough strokes, teasing the head and making him cry for more. “Come for me,” Steve whispered into his hair, “please, Tony, please come for me—”

As if Tony had a choice. The words were hardly out before he was _gone_. His muscles spasmed but he couldn’t move; Steve held him even more tightly and he could only clutch at Steve’s arms, keening high in his throat as Steve tried (valiantly) to fuck him through it— but he couldn’t, couldn’t stop himself from shaking and coming inside Tony with a helpless, wordless groan.

For a while the only sound in the room was the ragged rasp of their breathing, slowly evening out as they settled back into their skin. Tony pressed himself back when Steve’s grip loosened up, just in case Steve had any dumb ideas of moving away. Not yet.  That had been new and weird and fucking _incredible_ and Steve wanted it, wanted it with him and nobody else and...

“Ohh,” Tony mumbled, dropping his head back onto Steve’s shoulder. “Okay. Yeah.”

Steve hummed softly and petted him. His hands brushed along Tony’s chest and stomach and thighs, warm and lingering where his muscles still twitched with aftershocks. “Are you... all right?”

He was too spent to even laugh, but he forced a huff of air past his lips to make sure Steve felt properly judged. “You’re kidding me, yeah?” He turned his face just enough to nuzzle closer.

Even with his eyes drifting shut he could feel Steve’s smile. “Tony. I didn’t mean _that_.”

_Well, what **did** you mean? _ he meant to ask, but the thing about being a bona fide genius was that sometimes you just sort of realized. “Mm,” he said, cracking his eyes open, because something told him he’d want to see this. “You want something else, sweetheart?”

Steve stared at him for a second with his eyes too bright, and he visibly reined in— something, something interesting that Tony would have to coax out someday soon. For now he could only be present as Steve held onto him like he was bracing himself and let the words spill out.

“I want to suck that woman from your skin,” he whispered in his dead-set stubborn voice, blushing and heedless of Tony’s quiet moan. “I want her gone.”

“Deal,” said Tony before he’d even finished speaking. “Oh my god that’s a deal, I will hold you to that. _Fuck_ ,” he hissed as Steve carefully ran a finger over his cock, feather-light but still too much.

Tony turned his head again and licked a line of sweat from Steve’s jaw, for the taste of sweat and skin and the way Steve’s eyes fluttered shut. When Steve took his chin and kissed him all soft and thorough he just leaned closer, tracing the tip of his tongue along Steve’s lower lip. He even let Steve pull out of him because then he was tugged into Steve’s lap and Steve was kissing him _slowly_ , with more tongue than any self-respecting American IconTM would use. Tony might have whimpered a bit.

But he sat and took whatever Steve gave him gratefully, eagerly, always conscious of Steve’s hands stroking his skin. He shivered each time they slid over his ass. Would Steve push his fingers in to feel how open he was, still slick with come? It was too soon, but fuck, he wanted it. Wanted more.

He was starting to think he’d never _not_ want more of Steve.

Luckily for him, Steve was nothing if not goal oriented. After a few more lingering, wet kisses, he brought Tony around to lay lengthwise on the couch, meticulously avoiding the side they’d left sticky and wet. Without Steve holding him Tony sprawled bonelessly, propping his head up on one arm to watch Steve kneeling between his legs. He kept watching as Steve bent his head and kissed Tony’s chest, from clavicles to arc reactor and lingering at his nipples before slowly moving down. Further and further, gentle presses of his mouth, until finally Steve engulfed Tony’s cock and held him there, just barely bobbing his head. Tony cursed and bit his lip and tried very hard to think straight. He’d have sworn he could feel Steve’s mouth watering.

And the thing— the fact, the really irrefutable technical fact— was that it was still probably too soon. Tony could manage twice, sometimes, but it wasn’t like he was a kid anymore, and he’d come recently enough that the pressure of Steve’s lips made him almost want to say _wait, not yet_. But.

He looked down at Steve and the expression on his face as he began to slide his tongue against the underside of Tony’s cock, so determined. Like even if Tony _couldn’t_ , even if Tony told him so and asked him, begged him to stop, he might not. Might just hold him down (again) and take him apart until Tony was a sobbing squirming wreck and didn’t even know his own name, just that he belonged to Steve.

Steve wouldn’t do it, not in a million years, he was almost sure. But Tony still thunked his head against the armrest, choking on nothing, and his cock twitched in Steve’s mouth.

Strong hands stroked approvingly under his thighs, and the look of triumph in Steve Rogers’ eyes was nothing short of obscene. He seemed to take that twitch as permission to do as he pleased (which, honestly, he’d had from the start) and he hollowed his cheeks around Tony’s cock, sucking hard and pulling back to swirl his tongue around the head. In what seemed like less than a minute Tony was hard again, panting and trying not to push his hips towards all that soft wet heat.

“Fuck,” he gasped yet again. “ _Fuck_ , Steve.” He was rewarded by a low moan around his dick, and Tony suddenly remembered why this was happening, what Steve wanted. “Would this— ahh, this be a time to say that I’m yours? Because... I’m yours, I am, baby, all yours and I— I’m _sorry_ , that I—”

Then Steve actually pulled away, and Tony felt startled and cold and _completely fucking betrayed_ by operant conditioning.

These feelings were somewhat assuaged when Steve brushed his lips against Tony’s cock, then put a hand around the shaft and stroked, rough and dry after his mouth. “I know,” he murmured, and Christ, his pupils were blown and his lips were so red and swollen. “It’s okay. Just... let me be the one to do this. Please, Tony?”

“Yes, absolutely, whenever you want,” Tony promised, fervent and immediate.

“Any time you need this—” and Steve licked his cock in a fast wet stripe, because he was actually, literally trying to destroy Tony’s brain “—you come to me. Not anyone else. And I won’t mind, I— I think about it all the time, anyway, and I—”

Blushing to the tips of his ears, Steve swallowed Tony’s cock as if he was desperate for it, or just desperate to shut himself up, either of which was okay (though Tony thought, in the back of his mind, that he’d really have liked to hear the rest of that sentence). Steve hummed around him, breathing hard through his nose as he licked and sucked his way down Tony’s cock and back up, and his hand— Steve’s hand was down between his legs as if he were...

And just like that, Tony was almost there, arching his back and fucking into Steve’s mouth because Steve was _touching himself_ and Steve _thought about this all the time_ and he felt like he just might die. He tried to stop himself, to hold still, but Steve just moaned and took him even deeper.

When Tony came, he felt as if his mind were being fractured. He could hear, as if in stereo, the breathless high-pitched noises he was making, and he distantly thought that he’d expected to be louder. He felt the couch fabric rubbing against his skin as his spine curved forward and straightened again. And still, with perfect clarity, he watched Steve swallowing his come, pulling back and stroking his own cock until he cried out and shuddered and came on the poor abused couch.

Because Steve was a brilliant strategist person thing, he moved them to the floor before collapsing and pulling Tony on top of him. “Hmmfh,” Tony informed him, slinging a leg over Steve’s waist.

“Sorry about your couch,” was Steve’s reply, a solid ten minutes later.

“It’s fine.” Tony made a loose, tired gesture meant to encompass how fine it was. “I think I’ll get it reupholstered, move it to the workshop. It’ll be our sex couch.”

“... We’re going to have a sex couch.”

“Mmhm. For all our, lots and lots of sex, y’know. Maybe I’ll make a plaque to hang over it.”

“Tony.”

“What? It’ll be dark wood, chrome, very tasteful.”

“The couch?”

“The _plaque._ ” He wriggled up enough to kiss Steve’s cheek. “Get with it, soldier.”

After that they lay on the floor for a while longer, and Tony was starting to feel heavy and sleepy when Steve ran a hand down his spine and spoke again. “We should go to bed.”

“Mkay,” Tony agreed, yawning, because he didn’t feel like moving but he was sort of cold and Steve couldn’t be comfortable lying between him and the floor. “Yours? Please tell me you’ve got some great fantasies that involve me in your bed, because I have... at least three already.”

He glanced up from putting his pants on and saw Steve staring at him with this shy, startled smile, like... he hadn’t been sure. Like he didn’t know how much Tony wanted to go to bed with him, possibly for days, possibly tied up and shamelessly used for sex. As if there could be some doubt on that point.

Which went to show that brilliant strategist people had their stupid moments, too.

“JARVIS, seal the room when we leave,” said Tony, shrugging into his shirt. “Or don’t, and let Clint sit on the couch; your call.”

“ _Tony._ ” Steve sounded deeply disapproving and captain-y, but there was a thread of amusement hidden somewhere, and when Tony blinked innocently Steve just shook his head and kissed him. Steve reached up to hold his head he carefully avoided the bruises that Tony had nearly forgotten; with Steve’s tongue teasing lightly between his lips the odds were very good he’d forget them again.

“Right, bed,” he announced, a little breathless, when they stopped. “We’re going to your bed, and you are not allowed to leave. Except for in the morning, when you get me breakfast.”

Steve’s eyebrows rose. “Oh really?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think that—”

“You see, Cap,” Tony interrupted, his eyes dark and gleaming, “I’m going to be very, _very_ good.”

\-------------------

The next day, breakfast arrived a little before noon. Steve made him bacon.


End file.
